Xeno Activity - Vanessa Ravencroft v2.docx
=Xeno Activity= by Vanessa Ravencroft What he had seen must be reported. He knew his life was unimportant in relation to what he had seen. The notebook he carried held his sketch and his notes he had scribbled with frozen fingers. He hoped against all hope that his people would find him... {3}Antarctica, 1947 Lieutenant Richard McMillian was the only survivor of the Fokker Universal Monoplane that had crashed into the rock-solid frozen landscape. Of course base camp knew about the crash, but with the current weather conditions, Richard knew they could not send out the only other plane the South Pole Expedition had. He glanced out over the blistering icy surface and the thick snowstorm which was whipping frozen snow crystals like shards of glass across his partially unprotected face. He no longer felt it; his cheeks were numb below the protective aviation goggles and the felt cap he wore. The wool shawl he had wrapped up across his nose was frozen stiff. Behind him lay the remains of the plane, the larger part of the fuselage on its own and almost 20 yards away to the left were scattered pieces of the wing. Richard knew that the smartest thing to do would be to stay with the plane. As soon as the weather cleared up someone from the base camp would search for him and the dark painted metal would be easy to spot from the air. Some of the emergency gear might even be still intact. The crash had been violent and sudden, killing Lorenzo outright, but there was no fire. He knew there were flares and enough wood and other combustible material to make a fire. Finding shelter in the fuselage would increase his chances of survival considerably. It wasn't animals Richard was trying to escape from. This forbidding frozen continent was not home to any predatory animals that could prove dangerous to a grown man armed with a pistol. As a matter of fact, this far from the actual coast there wasn't any animal life. Even though the polar winter was three months away, here roughly 80 miles from the coast, it was very cold. The base camp had be established on a rough pebble beach which overlooked a mostly ice free bay. He wasn't sure if he was unconscious or just dazed from the crash, but after he realized they had crashed his first thought had bee that it was the sudden weather change that had caused the plane to collide with the frozen ground, but then he saw it, that impossible thing and the fist-sized charred holes across the fuselage made it all too clear to him this was no accident. They had been shot down! What he had seen must be reported. He knew his life was unimportant in relation to what he had seen. The notebook he carried held his sketch and the notes he had scribbled with frozen fingers. He hoped against all hope that his people would find him, but then they might be in the same danger. Shot down by that flying disk! He had been an Aviator all his adult life and this exciting new technology that allowed men to leave ground and sore like birds, kept him hungrily seeking any information about all Airplanes and their development. There wasn't a manufacturer, motor or plane shape he didn't know, yet that flying disc that had appeared hovering over the plane wreckage was nothing he had ever seen, although he knew the symbol on its side identifying the country of origin very well. This was the logo that had replaced the Iron Cross shaped logo from the first world war. It was still a cross, to some known as the broken cross, but to everyone reading the papers and watching the news reels from Europe it was the Symbol of the New Germany, the Swastika! {notice}Edited by BoonDock{/notice} {3}New Mexico, 1948 The massive chrome grill of the Cadillac gleamed for a short moment in the bright sunlight as the heavy limousine rolled past the armed MP guards. Other than the armed guards there was a small guard house, a high razor wire topped chain link fence and a number of big signs telling anyone that might pass by that this was a government installation and trespassing carried the danger of being shot on sight. Not that there would be many to read these signs, out here in the middle of the proverbial nowhere. The big black Cadillac, dulled with the dust of a long drive over unpaved desert roads, came to a grinding stop on the loose gravel in front of a single corrugated steel storage building. It was, as far as anyone could see, the only construct within the fenced off area. The building looked like any other metal warehouse, basically a big half pipe closed on each side. There was a big roll gate and a smaller door on the near side. The driver got out and opened the rear door and saluted as the man sitting in the back got out, nodded to the driver and walked up to the building’s door. It was opened before he reached it and a man in white coat and a General greeted the arriving man. The General smiled and said, "Glad to have you here Mr. Dulles." "Let's cut the pleasantries until we are inside. I am in dire need of a drink." The men walked inside with, closing the door behind them. Most of the interior was occupied by stacks of crates and boxes. An olive green painted fork lift stood idle to one side. The three men walked into to a small office containing only a cheap desk, two wooden chairs and a steel filing cabinet. As soon as the man in the General’s Uniform closed the door, the floor sank with a humming sound and it was apparent this was a camouflaged elevator platform. The platform kept on descending as the General said."You might as well sit down, Sir. The descent will take over 20 minutes." Dulles sat down on one of the wooden chairs. "Is he already here?" "Yes Sir, the President is here and has been briefed." "Would you mind briefing me as well? I know precious little what this is all about." It was the man in the white coat who spoke, "I was under the impression you are fully aware of Project Armadillo." "I am aware of it and I know it is the most secretive and most highly classified project in our nation's history. I know it has something to do with the Incident at Roswell, but I was left in the dark otherwise. As I understand it, something was shot down that should not exist." He shrugged."This is about the extent of my knowledge of the project." The General nodded towards the white-coated man, "You might as well tell him now Dr. Smith. Maybe it will lessen the shock." Before the scientist could speak, Dulles took of his glasses and pulled a kerchief out of his pocket and absently started to clean them. "I assume it wasn't a weather balloon after all, that came down in Roswell." "No Sir, it wasn't." "Russian?" "No Sir, it has not anything to do with the Russians or any other nation on Earth." "You mean it really is from Outer Space?" "Indeed, Sir, it is." The platform slowed down and stopped. Two soldiers with MP sleeve bands and armed with rifles awaited them and led them down a corridor carved out of rock and through a door into a conference room. About twenty other men and women were already there, among them the President himself. The President greeted his Secretary of State, amember of his cabinet and a personal friend, briefly and then motioned him to take a seat next to him, then said to the Scientist," We are complete Dr. Smith. You might as well get started right away!" A pretty looking woman served Coffee and drinks while some started to smoke. Dr. Smith placed himself before the U-shaped conference table. "Mr. President and everyone else present, I am Dr. John Smith. This is not my real name and this is not my real face. For security reasons it was decided that this is important. Unlike any of you I was not born on this planet you call Earth. I am not human." Ignoring the consternation that this announcement caused, he turned and pressed a button at the desk next to him. The wall with the black board behind him lowered into the floor and through what looked like a thick glass window everyone could see six transparent cylinders filled with a watery liquid. In each of the cylinders was a human sized being with a large head, two arms, two legs and a large head with huge black eyes, almost nonexistent nose and a small mouth opening. Somehow human but at the same time totally alien and everyone in the room instantly knew these were not life forms from this planet. There was a shocked silence, and then some fearful-sounding murmurs. One of the uniformed officers actually forgot the cigarette between his fingers and was reminded of it as the glowing tip reached his skin and he yelped, "Damn! What are those?" Dr. Smith said. "These are six Ferons, members of an advanced galactic space-faring species. These six bodies represent the crew of the craft that was shot down over New Mexico almost exactly a year ago. There was a seventh but we dissected it for scientific purposes." The same Officer, wearing an Air Force Uniform and a General’s star said, "And you are one of them?" "No Sir. I am not, I am a Pan Saran and I have been stranded on Earth for more than 30 years, after my escape module crashed on your world." "And what is your business here?" The President got up. "Ladies and Gentleman, I personally vouch for Dr. Smith. He has worked for us for a long time and his participation in the Manhattan Project was a deciding factor in its success." With a glance at Dulles to see his reaction the president gave the signal for the projector operator. The lights dimmed to almost perfect darkness, they could smell the typical odor of hot metal coming from the projector. The first image appeared, projected onto the wall. I summoned you all here to assist me in forming a new Secret Agency, one that is unlike any other, it must remain more secret than anything else. It must be funded differently, hidden differently and operate outside any and all existing restrictions. Any questions and problems will be dealt with using strict policy of denial and ridicule." The president made a motion that included all present. "You have been carefully selected to form this secret agency, and you are the keepers of these secrets." A woman said. "I am honored to be chosen and I most certainly will keep these secrets, but why are we to keep this secret? Would the public not have the right to know?" The president nodded to Smith. "Why don't you explain to them why this must be kept secret?" The alien scientist acknowledged the President with a nod and said. “There are many reasons of course ranging from public unrest to religious problems. The paramount reason however is National Security. Other nations and groups might also have contact or gain contact with Aliens. If the Soviets think we have Alien contact and access to advanced technology, they might go for a preemptive strike." He made a gesture towards the alien shapes behind the glass. "As you now know, there are the Ferons and the Pan Sarans, but there are many more out there." He pointed upward. "Hundreds of different species and cultures, each with their own agenda and motivations, some of them are peaceful and seek peaceful coexistence; others are as aggressive and expansionistic as can be. There are species out there that consider primitive cultures like yours as perfect source for food or slaves. All of them are technologically much more advanced as you are at this stage of development and you would stand no chance against them. What good are your best troops, air planes and ships against an enemy that can bombard the entire surface of this world from space? What are 4 Billion humans against empires with hundreds of worlds each holding ten times as many beings?" The president nodded." We know Extraterrestrials exist. We know they have visited our planet in the past and they will do so in the future. We must know if other nations and groups have made contact. We must prevent Alien technology falling into other hands than ours. The survival not only of this nation but mankind itself is at stake!" He paused; he saw his words made quite an impact on his listeners. Then he continued. "Luckily, from what Dr. Smith tells me, our planet is somewhat distant from any of the main traffic routes, but not too far from the Freon Hegemony and well within the Xunx Reach. Dr. Smith nodded in agreement and added."The longer we can keep this planet out of galactic interests the better chance we have to develop the necessary technology to defend this world and one day ascend and take our rightful place among all the other species in the Universe." The woman crushed her cigarette."This makes no sense. You claim to be an Alien yourself and yet you speak as if you are one of us. Are you not an agent of your species first and foremost?" "I have no allegiance to the Pan Saran Empire. I am married to an earth woman and have children on this planet. I will gladly die and sacrifice anything I have to defend this world even if I was asked to fight the Pan Saran." The President spoke again. "I say it once more; Dr. Smith is beyond approach and can be trusted, as much as I trust everyone else in this room. I want you all to make this Secret Agency a reality and put every possible safeguard in place. You are the twenty most powerful and influential people in our nation and most of you have been guarding secrets for a very long time, so who better to guard this, the most important secret of all humanity?" {notice}Edited by BoonDock{/notice} {3}Corvallis, Oregon State University Sid Lemmon, true to his name, made a sour face as he glanced at the lottery ticket. Again the right combination of numbers had eluded him and with it the 12 Million Dollars in the Jackpot. He was sure some undeserving schmuck would get it. He crumpled the ticket into a small wad and tossed it quite skillfully into the waste basket almost 12 feet across the musky smelling, high ceiling room. Wooden glass cabinets lined most of the walls displaying a wide variety of Antarctic wild life, either stuffed and mounted or preserved in yellowish tinted formaldehyde or alcohol. It was all neatly labeled, cataloged and categorized. He sighed and returned to his work. Six samples of lichen in six collection containers. Dr. Sid Lemmon was a botanist and quite an authority on these so unassuming and to the layman quite boring symbiotic life forms. Whenever he had to tell someone what he was researching, he usually earned a yawn and all interest faded. His expertise, however, had earned him a flight to the ISS space station and he was one of the chosen few who had ever been into space. His experiments had shown that certain Lichen could survive after being exposed to deep space, radiation and all. NASA was interested to see if Lichen could be used as the first step in a possible Terra-forming project of Mars, or perhaps with genetic engineering turned into something eatable for gardens of a Lunar Colony. All this was of course many decades away of even being more than just some basic ground research and with the current administration’s total disinterest to fund even the most basic space exploration, it moved even further into the future. He manipulated the slide under the microscope, the large high-definition screen next to him now showed the grayish green glob to be a fascinating wild garden of intricate forms. Just as he focused his attention and began to make observation notes, he heard the door open. He had specifically chosen this out-of-the-way, back in the old building room because he loved the quietness in this part of the Oregon State University Campus and wondered who it was that had decided to disturb him and turned around. He wanted to say something grumpy to whoever had entered his little sanctum but stopped short of saying anything as he was quite stunned by the beautiful red-head coming towards him. She wasn't a student and not one of the staff or facilities people. For some reason he expected her to have some sort of Gaelic accent. "Are you Dr. Lemmon?" she asked with impatience clearly showing in her face. He grinned as his spontaneous intuition proved to be correct, even this short question was thickly laced with an accent that was certainly European. "Who wants to know?" He asked back. "Never mind answering my question. I see by your photo ID name tag, you are Dr. Lemmon. I am Sheilagh McMillian and I am outfitting an expedition to the South Pole. I was told you have been down to the South Pole quite a few times and are trying to get there again. When can you leave?" Sid made a stopping motion with his hands. "Slow down, Ms. McMillian, there are a million questions I need to ask even before I could make such a decision. The first questions that come to mind are: Who are you exactly? Why is there such hurry? Where are we going exactly? As the South Pole is a mighty big place and last but not least, what is the actual purpose of the Expedition?" She smiled, but it was not a very friendly one. "I am sorry Dr. Lemmon. I am just on a tight schedule and wasted an entire day trying to find you, since you never carry a cell phone." "I simply don't like to be available for everyone and their dog at all times. There is an old land-line phone over there on the wall and the staff knows where I am," he explained to her and then he shook his head. "What am I doing explaining to you all this? Would you perhaps find enough time to sit down, take a deep breath and tell me why you are looking for me and what this is all about?" She wore tight jeans giving evidence to a pair of very shapely long legs, and over it a shiny green Nylon windbreaker. She opened the brief-case she was carrying and produced a manila folder with a seal printed on it that he knew well, the logo of the Joint Special Operations Command. Her smile became a little wider. She had a very pretty face with a porcelain complexion and he knew there were freckles under that natural look, barely there make-up effort of hers. Her nose was small, tilted upward, her lips big and painted red, matching the very dark coppery tone of her long locks surrounding her like an explosion in freeze frame. Most striking in her appearance were the large, almost impossibly large, deep green eyes. He was certain those eye lashes shadowing those flashing orbs of emerald were real, despite the fact that they had to be at least half an inch long. "I see you recognize the patch. You are hereby reactivated Lieutenant Commander Lemmon." Sid's face clouded over and his watery blue eyes glared at her. "That life is over. I got my discharge from the Navy almost 10 years ago. And I am not and O4 either." In all her professional energy to focus on her mission as she had to admit to herself that he was quite handsome. He had not shaved for several days by the looks of that bronzed stubble over his cheeks and pronounced jawbones. His sandy colored hair, cut high and tight, would still pass regulations. "You know better than that, you can be reactivated at any time, your VA records confirm your disability is down to ten percent." She opened the manila folder and the passing glance she made over the documents inside told him she had read it before. "You solo-trekked across the Gobi desert, solo-trekked for months around the Arctic and Antarctic, explored caves and climbed several major mountains. Not to mention your trip to the ISS. That tells me you are as physically as fit as ever. Oh and before I forget it, congratulations are in order as your reactivation came with a promotion." She turned walked to the door. "I will be right back; I just need to run one more errant. Please don't go anywhere. I would hate to spend another day searching for you." With these words and like a red haired Texas Tornado with a Scottish accent she was out the door. Sid stared at the closing glass and wood door and his eyes caught an old US flag on a stand, dusty gray and faded in the far corner. His military career and old life with the SEALs was suddenly back. He thought he would never hear from them. Discharged as a cripple with a bullet from a Columbian Drug lord's assault rifle lodged in his spine. Half his guts chewed to bits by 7, 62 x 52mm rifle rounds, fired by the same gold toothed bastard. America wasn't very grateful or kind to its heroes, especially the wounded veterans. Unless you had been wounded in a real war, declared and sanctioned by the Congress your chances of help, support and care were next to nothing. Sid hated the System, hated the politicians who sent men like him in hell holes to do their bidding, to kill and be killed. He hated the liberal bastards who now ran pretty much everything, who had millions at hand if there was an Earthquake or some other national disaster in some far away country, but they didn't even have the 300 dollars for a wheel chair for a wounded vet without going through a mountain of paperwork and waiting lists. Yes he hated them, but he never hated his country. He still got a lump in his throat every time he saw her fly, that Old glory. The students displaying their pierced and tattooed bodies, passing beneath her every day before they came on campus, oblivious to the fact that they could express themselves however they wanted because of what that flag really meant. He walked over to that old sun and time faded flag, brushed the dust off. No one on campus would dare to show a little patriotism because of their the fear to be stamped right-wing supporters and worse." Back then when I joined the navy, I made that commitment to you." He whispered to the flag," and if you call me again, even if it is most likely some fool’s errand, I will go. {notice}Edited by BoonDock{/notice} {3}University of Oregon He actually waited twenty minutes, and then he returned to his slide. If she thought he would hold his breath till she returned, she was wrong. Although he could not really find the peace of mind he needed to concentrate. He left the VA hospital in a wheel chair and thought his life was over. He even contemplated using his Heckler and Koch USP to end it all, his hands worked fine. But giving up was not really in his character and so he went back to school and eventually completed his doctorate. His doctor father, Professor Alfred Neumann, originally from Germany, was the one who initially got him interested in lichen and it was that man who proposed the subject of his thesis. He started to giggle as he remembered how he and the other students used to make fun of the old professor as his name was very similar to the main character of the MAD comic magazine. Professor Neumann was good natured and went along and even embraced his nick-name and laced his lectures with references to that nationally known fictitious idiot character. The fact that Professor Neumann walked on crutches and that this handicap did not stop the Old man from making long, often unaccompanied hikes into forests all over the world was perhaps the main reason that inspired Sid to work out and fight his own disability. No matter what Sid did once he started something he gave all he got to accomplish his goals. He was promoted on top of his class, and became one of the foremost authorities in the field of Lichen research. His field made it necessary that he also knew much about fungus and algae. While his expertise would never make him a celebrity, he was well known by his scientific peers all over the world and often invited to lecture on the subject. He also worked out like a man trying to become the world champion in Iron Man competitions and it started out with swimming as was only befitting a SEAL. It did not take long after he started swimming that he noticed his atrophied and useless legs suddenly moved and were no longer just being dragged behind him. It created a feeling of triumph and euphoria that he could not equate to anything he had ever experienced before. After that day he increased his efforts and after nine months he walked out of the water on his own legs. The doctors at the VA hospital called it nothing less than a miracle. One of them speculated that the bullet fragment that was still lodged in his spine had shifted a little, allowing nerves to reconnect, but he also warned that it could shift again. Surgery was an option but considered very risky and the chance that he would wake up completely paralyzed was too high for him to consider the procedure. In the past four years he had competed in many Iron Man competitions, and as the red haired lady pointed out trekked across some of the most hostile environments on the planet. Sid wondered what was keeping her. First she was in such a hurry, not even able to tell him what it was all about, and now she took her time. True it was a big campus and he had no idea what errands she was talking about. It was then the wall phone rang. It was Professor Morgan, the head of life sciences and thus also his superior. Morgan usually left him alone and the University was glad Lemmon was here. They knew about the offers from other Universities and Industry Lemmon got almost daily in the mail. His small department didn't need much in terms of money and he produced prestigious papers on a regular basis. "Good Morning Dr. Lemmon, I was just informed that you got an offer to participate in an expedition and I wanted to congratulate you. Of course I approved your leave of absence and we will keep you on the roll as well." Sid was able to read between the lines and said. "I am in the dark about the details and the duration, Professor Morgan, but I don't plan to make a permanent switch and will return." The man on the other end sounded relieved. "We will keep your lab facilities and your office locked during your absence, of course and I am sure the new macroscopic equipment you wanted will be here when you return." Sid thanked the man after the Professor wished him luck and a good trip and hung up. To his surprise the phone rang again. He put the old fashioned black receiver back on his ear. "Dr. Lemmon." "Good morning Dr. Lemmon, I am Dr. Schuster. We met a while ago during the symposium in Helsinki." "Ah yes I remember. I actually read your paper on Basidiomycetes not so long ago and it confirmed several observations I have made." "The reason I am calling Dr. Lemmon is that I wanted to offer you a research opportunity at the University of Munich, Germany. It is a long term project involving Lichen found in the fur of frozen Mammoths discovered in East Siberia. It is well funded with a personal stipend of 1 Million Euro annually, no limit on equipment requests and several field expeditions." This sounded almost too good to be true, a million Euro. But then he knew how well funded European Universities were and he suspected a German pharmaceutical giant was behind the research funds. Extracts from many Usnea species were used to treat wounds in Russia for at least a thousand years. The chance to examine preserved lichen from the times of the last ice age was more than a potent lure. "Dr. Shuster, I would love to take you up on that but I think I will be tied up for the next few months and I do have a commitment to the University of Oregon." "I understand. Should you change your mind give me a call. I am sure we can work something out with your University, perhaps guest tenure and offering to share some of the research with your faculty." He hung up after exchanging the usual pleasantries. He did get good offers, but this one took the cake. A million Euros per year … that would be more than enough to save the funds to buy him that ranch in Colorado he had always wanted. What made him think was the timing, two unusual events before lunch. He started to go back to his work when an enormous explosion shattered the windows, lifted him off his feet and showered him with glass and debris. Years of intensive training made his body react before he could even think. He rolled over his shoulder and came to his feet. His ears still rang but he could hear the shrill bells of fire alarms, the rhythmic honking of car alarms and the screams of people. It took him less than a moment to check himself. Other than a few superficial cuts and scratches he seemed unharmed. Looking out the shattered windows he saw a sizeable hole in the building across the yard. Thick smoke belched out of what used to be the Bio Chemical labs where Dr. Stephen Lemon, the friendly little man with big glasses who had almost the same name was working. Campus mail and visitors were more often than not directed to the wrong man. Due to this fact he knew the man well. He was still dazed and not able to think any further and more out of coincidence than anything he noticed a black SUV leaving the nearby parking lot, while everyone else was either dazed or rushing towards the explosion site. He then rushed out to see if he could help as well. Sid sat on the gurney behind an ambulance and allowed a Paramedic treated his cuts. "Most of the cuts are superficial, Sir," the paramedic told him, "but the one on your cheek needs further attention." "Never mind, one more scar will not make me look worse than I already do; I bet the emergency rooms have their hands full as it is." The Paramedic looked towards the now taped off explosion site where fire fighters rushed back and forth. "It could have been much worse, we have only one fatality. It seems no one else got really seriously hurt." "Does anyone know what happened?" "Nothing official of course, the fire investigators are not even here yet, but from what I heard it was a faulty gas line feeding the Bunsen burners in the lab, and when Dr. Lemon switched on the light coming in this morning the spark was enough to cause the explosion." Just then the Red head stepped around the open doors of the ambulance, she had her arms crossed before her chest and there were soot smudges in her face. "Are your injuries bad enough to prevent you to coming along?" He jumped off the gurney and thanked the mildly protesting Paramedic, and then he said. "Just some cuts, I think I am fine otherwise, but I wanted to stick around to see if I could help." "There is nothing you can do here. The situation is well in hand by the emergency crews." He followed the woman and after a few steps, away from anyone, she said. "I think it is best we have lunch so I can fill you in. The North Star leaves from Bremerton in two days and I’d like us to be aboard." "In two days? I can't even get my gear together in that time, not to mention take care of my apartment and all the little things that need to be done before I can leave. I still don't know what this is all about and I do like to know, reactivation or not." "I didn't invite you for lunch to eat, but to fill you in." {notice}Edited by BoonDock{/notice} {3}Cornwall, England With carefully measured movements he pruned his prized roses; it was done with great care, much knowledge and experience. Here in his glass house everything was in meticulous order and this is how retired Brigadier Hadley Morgan liked things to be. There was little evidence that this ramrod straight, white haired gentleman wearing that straw hat was over ninety years old. He had been retired for a long time now, and while his short-term memory played tricks on him now more often than not, his memories of the military, his service for Country and Queen were as crystal clear as ever. He chuckled, yes the Queen, she was still at it. Not much longer for sure, but perhaps he would die before he saw a new monarch on the throne of England. So much had changed since Princess Elizabeth came down from the famous tree-house hotel in Africa, and became Queen of England, because her father the King had died while she was on Safari on the Dark Continent. Back then the Queen of England was still the ruler of an Empire, the lion strong and respected. Today everyone was let in and you did not even have to speak English to get an English passport. Local courts considered to accept and consider Sharia law and bombing the tube or busses and killing dozens was not murder and a hanging offense, but an expression of anger against the evil Britons who didn't understand the needs of the oh-so-poor and misunderstood. Police tiptoed around the real issues. Hadley was actually glad he would not see too much of the future and the things to come. He heard the glass door and expected it to be his live-in nurse bringing him a cup of tea. He turned to lecture her about the importance of knocking and then to thank her for the tea, Sarah the nurse had been with him now for ten years or even longer, he could not remember. He knew she would not mind his lecture, she was used to it. That she was mentioned in his last will and would receive a tidy sum of money, was his way of expressing his gratitude towards the young woman. But before he could turn his motorized wheel chair someone grabbed the push handles of it and the little green light on his controls blinked out. "How often did I tell you to charge the bloody thing?" he snarled. The nurse went around his chair to face him, he heard the faint whisper of her dress, and unlike many old men his hearing was as sharp as ever. He insisted that she wore a proper nurse’s dress and not one of those newfangled unisex things that were in style now. The very word Unisex was an atrocity to good old British values, in his opinion. He looked up and the next sentence he was about to utter, died in his throat. The nurse before him wore clear plastic mask before her face and underneath the perfectly coifed auburn locks. The nurse was not alone! Hands grabbed his arms and secured them with plastic cable ties to the armrests of his wheel chair. He was old, but he had been a member of the old Secret Intelligence Service before it was called MI6 and he was no fool. "What is this all about?" he asked with as much steel as he could put in his voice. "We want your Antarctica Files. The files you kept and all the photos. We already got the manuscript of your book and most of your material, but we know there is more." "I don't know what you are talking about and there isn't much you can do to make me talk! I am old and death holds no terrors for me." The masked nurse laughed coldly, and then retrieved a little metal bottle of lighter fluid, a well-known brand and a lighter from her apron pocket." First I am going to burn your roses. If that doesn't loosen your tongue, we will make you watch as we burn your nurse and your niece. If that doesn't work, there is always the chemical way. Now we could do it the easy way but I prefer old fashioned mental and physical torture." "Not my Roses!" he gasped! "No one is missing those old files and who will believe an old fool writing a book that no one will ever read?" "You know better than that, Brigadier. You have been on Queen Maud Land and we know you have seen things. You are the last." "Who are you?" But even as he asked he knew who he was dealing with, "Bloody Nazis!" "That’s a label, no more. We existed before it bore that label, and we will exist long after the label is forgotten. Now do I have to set fire to that pink one over there?" He pressed his lips together but then said, "What you are looking for is in the second fertilizer bag, over there." A man dressed in a track suit, the hood drawn tight around a plastic masked face rushed to the spot. He opened the plastic sack and nodded. "It seems to be all here, documents, pictures and a roll of film." He sighed. "Now you will kill me, I know and I am ready. The world has changed. The Empire is gone and my beloved England is a shadow of its former glory. Seeing what it has turned into, I sometimes wish your Fuhrer had won. This decadence and unmoral behavior is worse, much worse!" "Yes, Old Man, you must die now, but rest assured the world as you know it won't last much longer." She retrieved a tiny syringe, with a fine short needle. It was filled with a yellowish liquid. "It will be quick!" {notice}Edited by BoonDock{/notice} {3}London, England Commander Neil Barclay, of the British Military Intelligence, stood by the still smoking ruins of building nine. It used to be an old archive filled with world war two documents, most of it never transferred to digital media. The cause of the fire was a simple electrical short; much of the wiring in the building was almost as old as the files. It would have been a major undertaking to bring it up to standard and money was short and always needed for more pressing matters. One of the most famous and efficient secret services in the world, mostly relied on twenty year old computer equipment. Yes, some of the departments used the latest stuff, but not all of them. Since the File storage belonged to his department, he had come to see how much damage the fire had done. The loss of the documents was a big loss in terms of lost history, but it was nothing more than that. He also needed to be sure that none of what was left over would be carried away by fire fighters as a souvenir. As old as the files were, most of them were still classified. Bureaucracy and some kinks in the chain of command delayed the fire fighters and prevented them from battling the blaze right away. By the time a person high enough up the chain of command could be reached to permit the Fire Department on site, it was basically too late. There was not much to carry away now. One of the department's scientific investigators, holding a portable detector, looked at the readout of the yellow instrument and then came over to him. "It really looks like a technical malfunction. I could not find any traces of any accelerants, well other than the twenty truly ancient barrels of Synthetic Gasoline." "Synthetic Gasoline?" "Yes confiscated in Germany 1945. A German scientist found a way to make Gasoline from another source, I think Brown Coal. We confiscated some of the product to analyze it later. The Americans actually shot and killed the Scientist and destroyed or confiscated his notes. Why the Gasoline was still stored in a building with ancient paper records and other scientific curiosities of the Reich beats me." Neil sighed. “What a shame, with the civil fires burning all over the Middle East, we could use an alternative way to make Petrol. How much is destroyed?” "I am afraid there is nothing much left. The fire spread fast it seems from the patterns. The old ventilation system was running at full-blast, fanning the flames further. There might be shreds and pieces of course." "Make sure everything that hasn't burned is collected or completely destroyed. I’ll send you an Army Unit to help you with that." Neil was just making the necessary phone call to get more boots to help with the clean–up when he noticed his former Department Chief, retired Admiral Sir Henry, stumbling through the mess of debris and fire hoses towards him. He finished his phone call while he started to meet the old man half way. "Sir Henry, what a surprise! I thought you were enjoying your retirement in South Wales. What brings you to London?" The old man, with his silvery moustache that matched his neatly trimmed hair, pointed his trademark walking cane over the rubble. "This does!" "It is a shame I know, all the old files went up in smoke, but there wasn't anything vital or top secret stored at least not since 1945." "You have no idea, do you? They never briefed you, even when I left." "Briefed me about what?" "Did the basement also get destroyed?" "The ceiling partially caved in on it, what the fire didn't destroy, the fire department’s water did." The old man sighed deeply. "Walk with me, Neil. Let me tell you about an Antarctic Expedition we launched in 1945 to liberate Queen Maud's Land." "I did not know we even had assets to send anywhere, no less to the Antarctic. Besides what was there to liberate?" "The expedition was kept secret and it was a failure." Neil shrugged. "So the documents about that failed expedition went up in flames, I gather. An anecdote, a side story of the Big War is lost. Bad in Historical terms, but I don't see the problem. If it is about the South Pole we have a research station there I believe and so do many other nations." "Halley V. Yes I know. It's all a happy family of researchers, at least that what most of them are on the surface are at least." "Much has changed since you retired, Sir. The Soviets are no longer, and the Russians maintain open relations. The Antarctic is protected by a treaty and even the Chinese openly exchange research data." The Old man gave the younger a cold stare. "Don't treat me like an old fool! I was in this business when you still pooped in your nappies!" And I am going to be in this business when you need nappies again, Old Man. Neil wished he could say that aloud, but he simply smiled. "So why don't you fill me in then." The retired MI6 man reached in his coat pocket and retrieved a little black box." All you need to know is on this Memory stick inside the box. The Americans are about to send an expedition to the South Pole and you will be aboard. Your expertise in Meteorology will be a good cover." "I have no time for something like that. The Middle East is burning and there are fires burning close to shore. Besides you are retired." "You’ll change your mind when the Minister calls. Have a safe trip and pack extra socks. It's going to be cold there, so I have been told." The old man slapped his neck. "Damn flies, not even the smoke keeps them away." Neil was too angry to pay much attention to that, his phone rang and it was the number of the Minister that was displayed. He answered while the old man turned and walked away. Just as he had the phone on his ear, some of the fire men yelled and one of the water pressure tense hoses ruptured right before him, soaking him with a powerful spray of water. He cursed and got out of the way of the spraying water. Moments later he sat on the side step of a fire engine with a blanket around his shoulders and reestablished the call with the Minister. "Sorry about the delay, Sir. I just got soaked with water as a hose burst." "I am sorry too, but I believe my old friend Sir Henry is right and that there is something very important going on, down at the South Pole. He recommended you as you have been a weather man in the Navy before you joined our ranks." "Sir, with all due respect, but what is so important down there? We got much bigger and more acute problems." "I am not sure actually, but the old man still has many friends and I am one of them and his nose was never wrong when it came to sniff out trouble. He said he would give you documents that explain it all." "He did give me a Memory Stick and yes Sir I will check it out when I am in the office." Neil got up and looked for his jacket. It still hung dripping wet at the ladder hook were the helpful fire man had placed it. He looked for the memory stick but could not find it. With a sense of urgency he searched through all his pockets. Did he actually put it away or did he get hit by the water while he still had it in his hands? No, he was sure he put it in his jacket pocket, to take the phone call! He searched the ground, the little black box was nowhere! If it had dropped where the hose ruptured, there was no telling where the water torrents had washed it. What angered him most was that he had to ask the old man for another copy and hope that the stick was well encrypted. He looked around for the firemen helping him, and he found one. "Did you see if I dropped a black box by any chance?" The Fireman shook his head. "No Sir and sorry about the hose! It is the darndest thing I have ever seen, a hose ripping like that I mean. Never seen a hose rip like that without someone driving over it or dropping something sharp on it." "Where is your colleague, the one with the moustache?" "Don't know Sir, he was from another brigade, I’ve never seen him before." Neil was no fool; he was maybe a little too careless and didn't pay as much attention as he should have. A deadly sin in his kind of business, still it all could have been a chain of unrelated events. He stopped one of the Army Lieutenants who were responsible for Site security. "Lock the site down. No one leaves! I want to see all Fire fighters personally!" "Yes Sir!" "Do you know if Sir Henry has already left?" "Sir Henry and his driver passed the front gate 12 minutes ago." While the Army Officer organized the lock down, he dialed the number of his former boss. The phone kept ringing. Why didn't the old man pickup? Was he trying to teach him a lesson? After a second attempt the phone was answered. “Assistant to Sir Henry speaking.” "I am Neal Barclay and I need to talk to Sir Henry." "I am afraid that won't be possible. Sir Henry is currently in treatment in the Emergency room. It appears a bee has stung him and caused a strong allergic reaction. The doctor's prognosis is not too good, considering his age and his heart condition." Neal looked over the smoking ruins and no longer believed the fire was an accident. Something was going on here, something very serious! {notice}Edited by BoonDock{/notice} {3}STARBUCKS Lunch turned out to be a muffin and a cup of Coffee at the Starbucks across Campus. She bought her own and waited till he had made his selection and joined her at one of the small tables by the window. The Starbucks was nearly deserted, most likely everyone went rubbernecking. He sipped his “Quadruple Shot Venti Latte” and said "Well now it is your turn. Fill me in or I go to the VA and make sure I leave with a medical evaluation that frees me from any drafting." "No need to get hostile, Mr. Lemmon!" she said with a sharp tone in her voice. "It is you who is steamrolling all over me since we met. I am neither a slave nor a little lap dog waiting to kush whenever the mistress needs service." Her large green eyes sparkled with emotions and energies and then she said. "Have you ever heard about Operation High Jump?" "Yes, I have. It was the largest South Pole Expedition ever, mounted in 1947 under the command of Admiral Byrd. To test equipment and men and to establish a base, I think the expedition failed to establish the base and was called home several month earlier than planned." "Well you heard about it, but you know nothing really!" she concluded. "My Grandfather was one of the men that went along, and he did not come back. Officially he died in a plane crash while making aerial photographs." While she spoke she opened her briefcase and retrieved several pages of paper all in plastic protectors and she handed him the first. It looked like a high quality photo-copy of the inside of a small note book. The paper of the note book had turned yellow and there were neat handwritten notes in pencil. The author of those notes spoke about weather conditions, sea lions and penguins, the second page showed the crude drawing of a UFO, there was no other way to describe it. Whoever had drawn that flying saucer added for whatever reason the old German Swastika to its side. The handwriting was no longer neat but looked narrow and hurried. The author claimed his Monoplane had been shot down by a Flying Saucer with German military markings. She watched him as he looked at the pages. "That notebook was sent to my Grandmother, twenty years after he was declared dead. It came by mail without return address or clues as to who sent it; the post stamp was from Chicago, Illinois. That's where my grandfather's best friend lived, who also was on that expedition. When we searched for him, we learned he had died on the same day the note book had been posted." Sid shrugged. "So you are telling me we are going to look for UFO's at the South Pole? You aren't serious aren't you? Even I have heard of the Whackos who believe in Nazi Flying Saucers. That's the same crowd who believes we never went to the moon and 9/11 was an inside job! You should try to sell your story to the Supermarket tabloids. Perhaps we will finally learn Bat Boy really exists!" He expected her to explode but she just glared at him. "The book is authentic. It was my Grandfather's note book. He drew that saucer before the term became popular with the sighting over Mt. Rainier. He drew it and never came back!" "Okay let's assume the book is from your Grandfather, the writing is clear and neat and speaks of normal stuff, then there is the drawing and the writing looks different. The book was gone for twenty years, could not someone else who is a UFO nut draw and write this stuff and send it to the Granddaughter of the Antarctic pilot to get some exposure later in the National Enquirer. I was the man who got mental messages from beyond the grave about UFO's?" He rolled his eyes. "What do you need a Lichen expert for anyway?" "Listen Mr. Lemmon, no one knew about my Grandfather being part of this expedition. There are other details in the rest of the note book that authenticate it. My Grandfather wrote the last notes after he had crashed, nearly freezing to death. That explains the change in handwriting. I made it my lifes' mission to find out the truth about what happened to my Grandfather and if possible bring him home. My team was able to convince the Department of Defense to help us in our effort to find him and the others that died during Operation High Jump. Your name was mentioned as a South Pole expert and a person who had been in the area where we believe he was last." "To find the frozen remains of your grandfather will be next to impossible. Ice at the South Pole is not only moving but growing each year. As noble and humane as your ideas might be, I still see no reason why you need me or why they needed to reactivate me." A new voice said, "I will fill you in on that, Lt. Commander." A man in a dark blue Navy Uniform stepped closer, took a chair, and sat down. Sid identified the man’s rank as Rear Admiral and the trident pin on his chest, made him a former SEAL. Sid had never seen the man before. The Navy man put his cover with measured moves on the table and smiled. "Looks like you are keeping in shape and I have the strong feeling you do not remember who I am." "I’ve still got a bullet fragment near my spine. Ever waited for treatment at the VA? Ever filled out three dozen forms in triplicate copy for a wheel chair or a set of crutches, Sir?" He added after putting his paper cup down. "No Sir, I don't know who you are." "I wish I could change things. I don't like the way they treat disabled vets either. I am Rear Admiral Lower Half Derek Moore. You should remember Lieutenant Moore. I was one of your instructors in San Diego." "Yes, I remember now." Sid recalled the man, but his face looked somehow different from what he remembered, familiar now but different, but then that was over 15 years ago. The Admiral said, "I am going along on this expedition and there are going to be two of your old Unit as well. Your name came up. We found that you are an expert on the Cold continent and one thing came to another and this is why you are reactivated." He glanced over at the Redhead and then said, "The main reason for the expedition is scientific in nature and the Navy is sponsoring part of it as we going to test new equipment." He laughed. "We don't expect to find UFO's, that's just, let's say an obsession of Ms. McMillian, but since her father is the Defense Contractor making the equipment and funding much of the expedition, she will come along and have a chance to look for flying saucers while we will conduct tests." Sid didn't believe a word the man said. There was something else going on and he didn't want to miss it for the world. So he agreed to go along. {notice}Edited by BoonDock{/notice} {3}Santiago, Chile Public Library "The library will close in twenty minutes, Senor," said the big woman to the American sitting at one of the old style microfilm machines, slowly turning the handle to advance the pages of the old newspaper he was studying. It was a copy of the El Mercurio from March fifth, 1947. There on page two was the transcript of an interview given by Rear Admiral Richard Byrd. The man turned and said, "I should be done by then." She complimented him for his good Portuguese and left. Vince Woodall returned his attention to the displayed page. This was Byrd's only public statement about why the expedition was suddenly withdrawn, six month earlier than planned. Woodall had used letters to congressmen and lawyers, citing the Freedom of Information act to see the log books and Expedition records from the US Navy, and they complied and he got a mountain of documents and out of focus pictures. None of the documents really went into any detail about why Roosevelt ordered this large scale expedition, so soon after the Big War had ended. He focused on reading what the text was saying and made mental notes. In the interview Byrd warned of an imminent attack on the United States and the necessity to "remain in a state of alert and watchfulness" and take defensive precautions against "the possibility of an invasion of the country by hostile aircraft proceeding from the Polar Regions". Byrd said, "I do not want to scare anybody but the bitter reality is that in the event of a new war the United States will be attacked by aircraft flying from Pole to pole with incredible speeds." Byrd also commented on the sudden termination of the expedition and explained that, "the most important of the observations and discoveries made was the of the present potential situation as it relates to the security of the United States ... I can do no more than warn my countrymen very forcibly that the time has passed when we could take refuge in complete isolation and rest in confidence in the guarantee of security which distance, the oceans and the poles provide." Byrd said that the United States was now in a better position due to the "discoveries" made during the expedition, saying that he now, "realized perhaps better than any other person the significance of the scientific discoveries made in these explorations because I can make comparisons." Byrd finished the interview by stating, "We are abandoning the region after making important geographical discoveries." Vince Woodall could almost taste the mystery that was implied between the lines. So who was the enemy that owned or flew these flying objects? Germany was apparently defeated, and there was no evidence that the new emerging enemy, Russia, had such superior technologies. Certainly there was no other known country whose activities that could explain the US invasion of Antarctica nor for the development of any craft that could fly "fly from Pole to pole with incredible speeds." He had to call Sheilagh and tell her about that. He had met the Red Tornado a few years back in Washington. The Girl was researching the same subject he did and just like her, his grandfather had died during that same expedition. Crushed in an accident with a bulldozer preparing a landing field was the official explanation, but all attempts to find out where the navy had buried him to bring his remains home were stonewalled. Thanks to Sheilagh's deep pockets he was no longer working but traveling and investigating. Here in Chile he had found some leads he wanted to follow. One local claimed he could take him to a spot in the rough landscape of the famous Tierra de Fuego, where he could see evidence of an old Submarine base. A German Submarine base built after 1945 so the local claimed. Other locals had warned him that this man was crazy and there was nothing out there, but Vince believed the old man and tomorrow he would make the trip. Cell phone coverage was intermittent at best and he found that he had not a single bar right now. The light on the Microfilm machine went out. The fat Librarian must have pulled the plug. He looked around to find that the entire library was dark already and closed. Loudly he called, "Hello?" In the shadows of the towering book shelves he believed he had seen movement. "This is not funny! I am leaving. No need to turn out the lights!" He did not notice the shelf behind him starting to lean over… {notice}Edited by BoonDock{/notice} Category:Edited by John